For Evil to Succeed
by Joella
Summary: Left behind, Sam searches for a way to save Dean. And himself. Spoilers for Season 3 finale and Season 4 episodes.
1. Chapter 1

**For Evil to Succeed**

_All that is necessary for evil to succeed is that good men do nothing - Edmund Burke_

* * *

For all the petty theft and B&E, for all the lying and cheating, for all the troubles they had brought, they still saved people. A lot of people. They were good men. They gave up all chances for a life _and_ their lives to fight evil. So why did the fates seem to hate the Winchesters so much? Bobby was startled out of his introspection when the Impala he was following left Route 24 to barrel down a barely visible dirt road. When Sam stopped the car about 8 miles later, he lunged out and began throwing up. After his stomach was emptied, he spat to try and clear his mouth before sinking to the ground on his haunches. Bobby approached slowly. He'd been waiting for the younger man to break down for two days now but why here, why now? Silently offering a water bottle, Bobby waited for Sam to speak.

After Dean's death, Sam refused to deal with Dean's body in New Harmony. There was too much demonic activity there even though Lillith had vanished. He had told Bobby that he wanted to take him home. Since the Impala was Sam's only home, Bobby figured that Sam wanted to go to Bobby's. John had been burned in the woods behind the salvage yard so he assumed Sam would want to do the same and join Dean's ashes with their father's.

Lifting his head, Sam looked up at his friend and mentor. He didn't realize that he himself looked half dead. Red-rimmed eyes deeply sunken in his pale face, he waved towards the car. "I . . . I can't go on," he whispered.

"What?" Bobby didn't understand what Sam was talking about until a breeze gave him a clue. He choked at the ripe odor. Dean had been ripped open by the hell hounds yesterday. And the inside of the Impala was hot. He swallowed thickly. Sam had refused to place Dean in the trunk choosing to share the car with his brother's body. But it had become too much.

"We can set up a pyre here, Sam. It's isolated enough."

"No. No fire…no salt. I'm going to bury Dean." Sam refused to look at Bobby. He knew all the arguments the older man would make and didn't want to fight him. Not _him_. He would save his energy for Lillith. Using the hood, Sam hauled himself upright. "We need some planks and nails. Dean will have a coffin." Sam kept his eyes down as he ignored the slit-eyed glare Bobby was giving him.

They couldn't be that far from Pontiac, and the town was big enough to have a lumber store. Bobby really didn't want to leave Sam alone with Dean's body. Who knew what the idjit would do if left alone with Dean right now. John had sacrificed himself for Dean, and Dean had done the same for Sam. A couple of years ago, Sam had unknowingly used a reaper to save Dean's life. Bobby had the feeling that even if he had known the consequences, Sam would still have gone through with it. Bobby had the spell book Sam had stolen from Sue Ann Le Grange in his library now. They had given him the whole story when they had handed the squat volume over months ago.

But a reaper couldn't help Dean now. Only some kind of deal could bring him back whole. "We both go, Sam."

Wanting to refuse but knowing Bobby wouldn't leave him alone, Sam nodded his head. "Let's get him out of the car. It's shady over there." Sam's voice wavered as he pointed to a stand of tall ash trees. He opened the back door and grasped his brother under his arms and pulled. The utter slackness of Dean's body reinforced that fact it was just a shell. Steeling himself, Sam continued to pull until Bobby could grasp Dean's legs. They gently placed his body in the shade, shielded it with some brush, placed protective wards, and left in Bobby's car.

It took less than two hours to find the planks and nails needed for Dean's coffin and return to the small clearing. Sam insisted on building his brother's final resting place himself while Bobby dug the grave. Bobby's heart bled for the young man. He'd known them as children and watched them grow into hunters. Dean's loss when Sam had left for college had led to several all night drinking sessions where Dean had bared his heart. John didn't want to hear anything about Sam, but Dean needed to talk it out. When John had died, both youngsters had stayed with him for a while, and he had allowed them into his own heart. And it was breaking.

Dean's loss was a gaping hole in Sam's life that couldn't be filled. Bobby had known from the moment he had seen Sam in his doorway after the failed rescue effort at Cold Oak what would come of it. Of Dean's choice. Sam. It amazed Bobby that Sam was still sane. In less than three years he'd lost everyone that was dearest to him. His time in Cold Oak had changed him and not just physically. Something in Sam's eyes forbade Bobby to ask what had happened, what had been said, what he had done. But sometimes he'd spotted the younger Winchester staring off into space at nothing with an expression of such loss that Bobby had never seen. They knew Dean's head was on the chopping block, but it was more than that. One night Sam had told Bobby about the Trickster and his months alone. Sam had hunted the Trickster then and won. Sam had saved Dean. But not now. Dean was gone. And shattered, Sam was left behind. Bobby would try to glue the peices together; he prayed Sam would give him that chance.

Bobby couldn't stand to see Sam torture himself any more. He forced the hammer out of Sam's hand. The wooden sides had smears of blood from Sam's smashed fingers. The tears that had started streaming while he was working had blurred Sam's vision, so he couldn't see the nails. Refusing to look at Bobby, Sam just nodded and without bothering to stand, crawled over to where Dean lay. Resting his hand on his older brother's head, Sam leaned against a tree trunk and waited for Bobby to finish.

The sun was setting as the two hunters lowered Dean's body into his coffin. Sam knelt on the ground unwilling to close the lid over his brother's features forever. The hellhound hadn't damaged his face; all the damage was further down. Sam touched Dean's cold neck and grasped the leather cord around it. He took off the pendant that he himself had gifted to his brother for Christmas that long ago year. Standing up and backing away, he placed the amulet around his own neck. Sam allowed Bobby to settle the lid and begin to place the final nails.

"Only one at each corner," Sam insisted.

Bobby did as asked but was afraid. What would the boy do? Surely he wouldn't try to make a deal too. That was a stupid thought. Of course he would. He was a Winchester. As if a crossroads demon would come when Sam called. After all, Sam had shot and killed the last one. Come to think of it, was there more than one? He'd have to look that up. Shaking his head at his self-distraction, Bobby placed the lid on and began to seal Dean in darkness forever.

Sam's body shuddered with each blow of the hammer. A part of him was being sealed inside that box. The part of him that was still completely human. The part standing next to Bobby was tainted and only good for destroying those he cared about. He'd have to leave Bobby too. Sam had lived and hunted on his own for months when Dean had died due to the Trickster's interference. He could do it again. He _would_ do it again. But this time the prey would be Lillith. But first...find a way to bring Dean back. It was the only thing he could think of.

A/N: Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A/N: This chapter takes place between seasons three and four. They're my own thoughts and not that of Kripke or any of the other masterminds behind Supernatural. They own all.

* * *

Two red eyes drew Sam onward, beckoning. He had no choice but to follow. His mind was a blank; he was a hollow shell. What was left for him? Dean had been given one final moment of being Sam's big brother and his final instructions were imprinted in Sam's memory. "_Keep fighting. Take care of my wheels . . . Sammy, remember what Dad taught you. And remember what I taught you.__" _What John had taught Sam was hard discipline and rigidity. What Dean had taught Sam was to fight to save others . . . to destroy that which was evil . . . to depend on family. Paradox. The Winchesters had fought for family, for the salvation of others against evil, for a chance to destroy that which had destroyed their family. And in the end, the _thing _that they had been fighting against all that time was Sam himself. Sam had drawn Azazel to their house which led to Mary's death. Sam had drawn Lillith to him to collect on Dean's contract. Both older Winchesters had given their lives for another's rebirth. Sam wished he had never been born. Alone. He was shattered, and the only one who could fix him was left behind in Pontiac.

It was late, and Sam's eyes were burning. The tears had stopped flowing miles ago, fatigue burned in them instead. After burying Dean in Pontiac, both Bobby and Sam had started driving to Bobby's house in Sioux Falls. At least there they could figure out their next move. Neither man, however, had the same plan. Dean had ordered Sam to not get demonic help, to not _learn_ whatever it was that Ruby had wanted to teach him, to not bring Dean back. But like his family before him, Sam would do anything for them. Anything.

Bobby braked as he left I-380 into the midst of Cedar Rapids. He watched the Impala in his rear view mirror to make sure Sam was paying attention and would follow him. They'd been driving for about three hours, and he was bone tired. Stuck in the house across the street from where Lillith was having her R&R in New Harmony, Bobby had to hide from any demons' notice of him after he had turned on the sprinklers. He'd waited to see who had won. Praying that they would succeed. Sam's single silhouette in the doorway signaled for Bobby to come on in; one look at Sam's face had given him his answer. Dean was dead. Bobby was left to pick up the pieces once again, but he was unsure of what he could really do for the boy. Keeping him alive for starters. He sighed explosively. That would be a chore. God, he needed some sleep. Sam was probably a lot worse off even though he was younger. Spotting a motel, Bobby pulled into the lot and got out.

Sam jerked as the taillights flared in Bobby's car as he slowed to exit the interstate. Surely Bobby didn't need any gas. No, he was pulling into a motel parking lot. Glancing at his wristwatch, he realized they had been fighting, moving, and grieving for over thirty hours. No wonder his hands were shaking. Pulling in beside Bobby's car, Sam dragged himself out of the Impala and leaned his hips against the hood. _"Don__'__t scratch my car, Sammy." _"I won't, Dean," Sam spoke to the phantom memory.

Bobby came out of the office, one room key in hand. There was no way he was going to leave Sam alone right now. No telling what damn fool idea he'd get. He knew he couldn't watch the boy all the time, but he'd try as much as he could. For all the Winchesters. He owed it to them and to himself. "Come on, we're on the top floor." Bobby grabbed his gear out of the trunk and led the way, checking back over his shoulder to make sure Sam was behind him.

Once in the room, Bobby offered Sam the bathroom first. He winced at what Sam would think when he looked in the mirror. Sam's face was streaked with dust from the gravesite and tears had made numerous trails down his face.

Sam eased into the stream of hot water trying to ease the ache out of his shoulders. His fingers stung when the water hit the bloody tips. He stood there for less time than he wanted, but he knew Bobby wanted, and deserved, a hot shower too. Pulling on an old shirt of Dean's and some sweats, Sam opened to door and dropped onto his bed. Pulling his pillow to him, he was asleep before Bobby had closed the bathroom door. A white light greeted Sam in the darkness accompanied by the sound of invisible growling dogs.

* * *

It was late afternoon the next day when the two heartsick men pulled into the salvage yard. A single creak split the air as Sam shut the Impala's door.

Going on into the den, Bobby spoke to Sam, "Grab something out of the freezer, will ya? I'll cook, you clean up."

Sam tossed some burgers onto the drainboard and headed towards the back of the house. After their foray with the African dream root, Sam now understood why Bobby had decided to live on the ground floor. Sam'd been upstairs a few times, retrieving or returning books, gathering ingredients for charms or spells. Bobby had given the Winchesters a room in the back on the ground floor. Sam threw his bag onto his bed, sank down, and stared at the other one. For three years, he'd stayed in the same room with Dean, rarely did the two stay apart for more than a few days. Covering his face with his hands, Sam contemplated a lifetime without his brother. "May it be short," he thought, "if I fail."

He'd done that before. Lived for months alone. But he'd known, he'd believed that when he found the Trickster that everything would be set right. He remembered every death that Dean had died and every day that he'd spent hunting alone, hunting things, hunting the Trickster. He had become so focused, so like John Winchester, that he has scared even himself looking back. Sam had felt like he was walking on a tightrope. To deviate one iota from his hunt was to lose the chance to rescue Dean. Now Sam was back on that hunt. The Trickster couldn't help him but there were other things out there that could.

There was just one problem. Bobby Singer. He knew what Dean had done in Cold Oak, what had led to them being in this predicament in the first place. And he knew Sam. Sam was a Winchester and would follow his brother's lead if given a chance. Sam wouldn't wait for an opportunity, he'd make one.

"Sam, dinner!"

Sam scrubbed his face with his hands, settled his shoulders, and went out to deal as best he could. He would make his first try tonight.

* * *

Cold filled the air. Sam stood at a crossroads watching, waiting. The chill without was echoed by the chill within. Goosebumps pebbled his arms. Had he killed the only crossroads demon? Had he destroyed this chance for saving Dean? Not knowing, he'd left his coat and his gun in the car so that whatever was watching would see that he would pull no tricks or a gun. Nothing. The stars followed their designated paths as the hours ticked away towards dawn.

Closing the front door gently behind him, Sam went to his room. Bobby's bedroom door was still closed.

Settling on his bed, Sam kicked off his shoes and fell backwards, exhausted. He knew Bobby would chew him out, but he could take it. After all, Sam had withstood John Winchester's tirades for years. Dean's outbursts had been harsh, but Sam knew they had no true bite behind them. _"__Remember what Dad taught you. And remember what I taught you.__" _They had taught him well. The crossroads demon wasn't an option any more, but there were more things under Heaven and Earth than dreamt of and Sam's one dream was of bringing Dean back to him.

_Please let me know what you thought of this chapter._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_A/N: I don't own a thing related to Supernatural other than DVDs and collectibles_.

* * *

Amber-filled glass in hand, Bobby Singer went to his front door. He had heard the Impala's engine cut off a while ago yet no Sam. Bobby hadn't heard from Sam in over a week, and he hadn't answered any calls. Opening his front door, he saw Sam pulling himself up along the porch rail. Hearing Bobby, Sam wearily glanced up. He looked awful.

Setting his glass down by the door Bobby said, "Boy, where have you been? I called you I don't know how many times. I thought. . .I was . . ." Bobby didn't want to admit he had been afraid that Sam had gone and done something Winchesterly. Looking sharply at the boy, he noticed that Sam's awkward stance. "What's wrong?"

Taking a shallow breath, Sam finally reached the porch. He felt dizzy and only the pain was keeping him conscious. "I had a bad hunt. I can't reach it and really didn't want to go to a hospital." The drive here had been nightmarish. He'd been afraid he would pass out and destroy the Impala. Dean's legacy to Sam. That fear had kept him going.

He held out his left hand. Bobby didn't keep him waiting long as he handed him a shot glass full of holy water. Sam belted it down and handed the glass back.

"Where are you hurt?" Bobby reached out to Sam, but Sam sidestepped the mechanic.

"My back. I was after a ghoul about 400 miles west of here, and it moved faster than I did." Unsaid was the fact that Sam still expected Dean to back him up and patch what was hurt.

Sam slowly eased into the house before turning around. Bobby let out a long whistle. Something big had clawed Sam from right shoulder to left ribcage. His shredded shirt was stuck to his back by clotted blood. Sam was right; there was no way he could have fixed himself up.

"Come on into the kitchen." Bobby led the way pulling a chair out behind him for Sam to sit on. Turning it around so he could rest his arms on the back, Sam sank down gratefully. He had driven here directly from Sturgis, and he was exhausted from the six hour trip. It had been a long hunt and an even bigger disappointment. He did not want to explain to Bobby right now why he had found a job that was close to Table Rock; that was his business, his secret, his failure. Sam reached out to grasp the half empty whiskey bottle sitting on the table and took a long drink. He noticed another bottle, drained, sitting on the counter. Bobby's manner of grieving was as unhealthy as Sam's.

Bobby came back to Sam with a pair of scissors. "It'll be easier if I cut your shirt off, Sam, it's ruined anyways." Working slowly, Bobby managed to cut off most of Sam's shirt leaving only the pieces that were stuck to his back with dried blood. Pursing his lips, Bobby tried to figure out the best course of action.

"Sam?"

"_Yeah_?" came through clenched teeth.

"We have two options. Do you think you can get in the shower to soak off your shirt, or should I try to do it myself? If I try to do it, you'll have to lie down cause if you pass out, there is no way I can get you into a bed without hurting you some more. What do you want to do?"

"Shower." Sam hoped some hot water might help with all the other aches and bruises. He just prayed he had a bit more energy left in him. Pushing off the chair back, Sam stood up very slowly.

"Don't get started yet, Sam. I want to get you some clothes; mine sure won't fit. I want to make sure you don't take a header in the shower."

Smiling faintly at the jest, Sam inched towards the back of the house. He was walking so slowly that Bobby caught up with him as he reached the bathroom.

Dropping sweat pants and shorts on the toilet seat, Bobby said, "I'll be right outside. You make sure I don't hear a thump, alright?"

Nodding his head, Sam pushed the door to but not closed. The hot water felt great on his head, but when he turned around, a grunt of pain escaped. Sam bit his lip to stifle any sound; he did not want Bobby to come in to help. He would have accepted such help from Dean but only from Dean.

A plopping sound started Sam from his daze. Looking down, he saw the pieces of his shirt, released from the crusted blood, pooled around his feet. Time to get out.

Drying off was a challenge, but he was able to get his pants on and his chest dried off. Raising his arms above his head hurt too damn much. "_Bobby_?" Sam was shocked at his own voice. He didn't realize until then how close he was to the edge.

Bobby entered the bathroom and was handed the towel by Sam. The boy's mouth was pinched with pain; it looked like he'd bitten his lip. Sam turned around.

Looking at the mess that the ghoul had made of Sam's back, Bobby was amazed he had made it home. He must had driven with his back straight; there was no way he could have rested against the Impala's seat for long. This would definitely require stitches.

"Here, hold onto the towel." Bobby had rolled the towel up and now placed it around Sam's waist. "This will hurt." Holy water slowly rolled down Sam's back, dripping into the wounds. A bit of steam rose into the air.

All the air left Sam's lungs in a rush. Damn that _hurt_. It was almost as bad as when the ghoul had ripped into him the first time. His vision darkened down into a small tunnel, his breath came in pants, his throat burned with acid from nausea. The roaring in Sam's ears almost drowned out Bobby's voice.

"Let's get you into the bedroom before you pass out on me." Wanting to offer to help but afraid of Sam jerking away and reopening the wounds, Bobby followed closely enough so he could catch the boy if he needed to.

No need. Sam made it on his own power before slowly sinking onto the bed. Bobby had laid some towels down already so Sam braced himself and slowly lay down on his side before rolling onto his stomach. Sliding his arms under the pillow, Sam turned his head away from Bobby. "Do what you need to do; I'll be okay."

Bobby doubted that but it had to be done and soon. Aiming a maglight, Bobby began to search for debris in the wounds. With tweezers, he pulled out a few bits of cloth the shower had missed and flushed out each of the stripes torn into Sam's back with more holy water.

Lifting his med kit off the floor, Bobby selected some sutures and began the chore of sewing Sam together. His back was a ruinous landscape. Three more scars to add to the vertical one alongside his spine. Jake's murderous attack on Sam. Sam's deathwound. The crossroads demon had healed him, but she chose to leave a visible reminder. It had only faded a bit in the 13 months since Sam had received it. Now he had more battle scars. At least these did not look to be fatal. They had only torn muscle and not reached as deep as bone. Bobby would do his best to minimize the scars.

"What was it you said did this?" Bobby hoped that talking would distract Sam from the pain.

"A ghoul. It was in a graveyard near Sturgis tearing apart tombs and graves to find food. Anyways, I had tracked it down to this cave, and it got the jump on me. I wasn't watching my back. Obviously." Sam winced as Bobby pulled another suture closed.

"Almost done here, Sam; you doing okay?" Bobby knew he was hurting the boy. Sam's short panting breaths as he tried to resist crying out told him that. A nod was his only answer. Why had Sam taken off as he had? He'd left about ten days ago and hadn't answered any of Bobby's calls. Where had he really been? Why would he choose to go after a ghoul? Surely there were other hunts that would have been less dangerous. "So did you get it?"

"Uh-huh. I dynamited the entrance. It's trapped since that was the only way in or out." It was also the only thing he _could_ do against the creature right then, and he didn't want to leave the job undone with the ghoul free to ravage the dead and the living.

"Done." Both men sighed with relief that the job was over. "I'll be right back, Sam." Bobby went to his panic room to get some antibiotics. The holy water should have taken care of any contamination that was spiritual, but there was still a high risk of infection. From what Sam had said, his wounds had been untreated for several hours. Digging through his medical supplies, Bobby decided to go with an antibiotic shot rather than pills. It would be a higher concentration and hopeful would be quicker.

Coming back into the room, Bobby realized that Sam was no longer conscious. Feeling for a pulse, he decided that Sam had finally allowed himself to relax now that he was safe. Sam didn't even wince when Bobby injected him.

Turning off the light, Bobby headed back to the kitchen. He would need to stay up to keep an eye on Sam. Glancing at the bottle of whiskey, he ignored it and chose a cold beer instead. He would need a clear head.

He headed into the library and pulled out a book. He wanted to be sure that sealing the entrance would keep that ghoul under lock and key or could it find a way out. Bobby settled down in the bedroom to read, to wait, and to hope.

Bobby was jerked out of his doze by the sound of muttering. Getting up stiffly, he went to see how Sam was doing. Not good. When Bobby turned on the light, Sam's back was covered with a sheen of sweat, his hair soaked and sticking to his forehead. Dammit. They did _not_ need this. Sure enough, Sam felt hot and fevered. The wounds had a reddish tinge on the edges but it didn't look like he needed to cut the stitches to relieve any pressure, at least not yet.

Bobby always had ice packs in the freezer. They'd been put to good use for his headaches lately but now they would serve a better purpose. He packed them around Sam's torso hoping to get his temperature down. A basin of cool water and a cloth would help too.

The coolness roused Sam, and he began to speak again. Bobby was unashamed of the tears that came to his eyes listening to Sam. In his delirium, Sam was begging Dean to let him do whatever was needed to save him. He was willing to pay whatever price there would be. Surely it wasn't wrong to do so. It wasn't wrong to save the one person left to him that he loved.

The anguish Bobby heard wasn't surprising; he was actually relieved. After burying Dean, Sam had locked himself down. He refused any offers to talk about what had happened. Bobby knew of at least one night when Sam had slipped out and left for a couple of hours, but Sam had never admitted to the deed and nothing had happened. Whatever Sam had tried hadn't worked. Dean was still dead.

Hating himself, Bobby was grateful for that. If Sam brought Dean back, it would destroy them both. He had seen the emptiness in Dean's eyes as he watched over Sam's corpse. Dean would not live a moment longer than his brother if a different deal was made and he returned and Sam died. God, what a mess.

Turning back to Sam, Bobby checked his temperature. Still high, but not dangerously so. Time for another penicillin shot.

Dawn was breaking when Sam's fever broke. He sank into a silent sleep as his breathing evened out. Bobby leaned forward in his chair and covered his face with his hands. He'd given up caring for anyone after his wife had died, yet somehow these two boys, now one, had wormed their way into his life and his heart. _"Family don't end with blood, boy."_ Those words were etched in his heart. Sam was his only family as he was Sam's.

********

Leaning against the bathroom sink, Sam tried to see his back in the mirror. Bobby had just taken out the stitches, and he wanted to see what was left. He snorted. What did it matter what he looked like? Sam was surprised and yelled, "Hey, Bobby, you should become a tailor! Not too shabby." Sam smiled briefly at Bobby colorful rejoinder. His back really didn't look too bad. There were lines that would fade in time, but they were smooth with no puckers.

Facing the mirror, Sam flashed to a memory of pulling a bullet out of his own chest and sewing himself up. His body had no scar; the scar was on his soul. Another time. Another place. That wasn't him now, but it might be. Dean was dead. He was alone. He would be a solitary hunter while he searched for something, anything to bring Dean back.

Sam hadn't admitted to Bobby the real reason he had been up near Sturgis. He'd found a 1836 Texas Paterson 38. Colt advertised online and bought it at the shop. Sam had taken it to the Devil's Gate.

_Standing in front of the crypt's door, Sam felt the weight of the gun in his hand. Would it work? Sam swore to himself that he would go in and find his brother and bring him out again. He would save Dean._

_Placing the Colt's barrel in the key, Sam twisted the gun, but it wouldn't move. He put more force into it but nothing. They needed **the **Colt and that bitch had stolen it, had sold it, had destroyed their one chance of killing Lillith. Sam felt a hatred for Bela that surprised him. He felt if he saw her writhing in torment that he would not lift a hand. That scared him. He'd always felt compassion for others. Others were the one thing that had kept him going. Dean had kept him going. Another chance to rescue his brother had failed. Failure to rescue Dean ate a bit more out of Sam's heart. Soon, there would be no Sam left. Just as the Trickster had warned. To hell with that. Sam would just keep searching. He would do something, find something, become something that would save Dean or destroy those who had taken him from Sam. Once he'd lived for months without Dean, and the Trickster had brought Dean back. Dean could come back, would come back, somehow._

Blinking his eyes to get rid of unshed tears, Sam resolved to look for another solution. But he would have to do it all on his own. He knew Bobby would try to stop him bringing Dean back, and he was tired of lying to him. He'd meant to stay away, but his wounds had stopped that plan. He'd try again. He needed to leave. To follow his own path wherever that would lead. His father and his brother had been and was in hell. And the path to hell was paved with good intentions. Sam intended to make a lot of demons pay.


End file.
